


It Takes Only a Week to Fall In Love With You

by LilicaDearest



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: 2Park are both panicked gays, 2park, Coffeeshop AU, M/M, Mutual Pining, but not for long lmao, childhood best friends turned lovers, crack and fluff and romance and a lil bit of angst, one massive yet unapologetically-written cliche of a love story, with bonus pandeep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-16 13:28:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14812253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilicaDearest/pseuds/LilicaDearest
Summary: Woojin has left on a student exchange program in Tokyo for a semester, and it's the longest he and Jihoon have been apart since they were children. Jihoon misses him, and he tells himself it's because he's unused to his best friend's absence, and needs Woojin's help to survive the English classes he's flunked out on repeatedly. That's all there is to it, nothing less, and most certainly nothing more.But Kuanlin and Jinyoung, who run the coffee shop Woojin and Jihoon used to frequent, are convinced that something else is amiss. And when Woojin returns home to Korea sooner than Jihoon is led to expect, he comes to realize that things are not quite that simple... and though he and Woojin have been friends for a lifetime, it may take much less time for him to accept the truth he's held in his heart for so long.Maybe a week isn't enough to fall in love.Or maybe, in this case... it is.





	1. Sundays are Meant for Missing You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brownrice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownrice/gifts).



 

**SUNDAY. 14 th July, 2019.**

 

Jihoon can’t say he’s ever been that massive a fan of coffee.

In fact, he’ll take the astringent tang of citrus juice, the over-indulgent taste of chocolate, and the effervescent kick of  _Sprite_ over the astoundingly bitter drink, a mainstay though it is in Sunday brunch culture.

Granted, his taste buds are more attuned to milder flavours to begin with. Caffeine, however, has proven itself the single most potent mode of crackdown against the allure of sleep, and as such he can’t quite bring himself to give up on the drink entirely.

“That dumbass,” Jihoon grumbles, stuffing forkfuls of waffle into his eager mouth. “Why’d he have to leave me behind like this? He knows I’ll have to  _crawl_ my way through English without him.”

_Couldn’t get a wink of sleep all morning._

He heaves in a despondent sigh, gaze coming to rest upon the liquor shelf behind the counter, wine bottles neatly stacked one on top of the other.

The only other beverage he can stand less than coffee is booze, in due—for the most part—to his shameful intolerance to alcohol. He shudders at the spontaneous recollection of his first (and last) drunken escapade almost half a year ago.

_The day I found out you were leaving._

His face contorts into a crooked smile, fingers tapping rhythmically against the table.

_How cruel of you to do such thing._

_To say ‘I’m leaving, Jihoon-ah’, despite the inebriated state you’ve put me in._

_Groggy enough to think, ‘ahh, he must be joking’. Or ‘oh, I must be out of my mind’._

_Is that why you’ve said ‘goodbye’?_

_Because I’m drunk. I’m hearing things._

_That’s all there is to it._

Jihoon stabs at his breakfast, fork clanging against the ceramic plate. “Selfish bastard.”

“Isn’t it much too early in the day for that?” a voice interrupts, startling him out of his stupor. “And quite frankly, much too late in the year. He’s returning next week.”

Jihoon spares the nosy barista a cursory glance. “Not the point, Kuanlin-ah. The point is that—“

“He left without saying goodbye,” Kuanlin butts in. “Which means you’ve had to slave through a semester’s worth of English lectures without his help. Which sucks ass because the moment you flunk out of this class a third time, your scholarship flies out the window. Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’ve heard you recite the  _exact_ same spiel over a thousand times.”

“A thou—“ Jihoon begins. “Now that just isn’t true! Woojin left a hundred and seventy-six days ago. A thousand is impossible.”

“You think you blabber on about him just  _once_ in a day?” Kuanlin chuckles, sliding a steaming hot cup of  _cappuccino_ across the table. “Well, think again.”

Jihoon blushes profusely, clamping his mouth shut.

 _I need to watch my words,_ he thinks.  _Have I really blathered on about him non-stop?_

 You having cream with that?” Kuanlin asks, pointing a thumb at Jihoon’s drink.

“Sure thing,” Jihoon nods. He fidgets momentarily, barstool rocking backwards at a perilous angle. “Thanks for allowing me in here, by the way. I know you aren’t supposed to open until later today.”

“No worries,” Kuanlin shrugs. “It’s an hour-long gap. Besides, you and I are members of the same basketball varsity team. My brother knows that, he doesn’t mind at all. Call it a special privilege, if you will.”

Jihoon nods, fondly recalling a memory or two with Lee Daehwi, the biological son of Kuanlin’s adoptive father, the culinary genius who inherited 2 Park Avenue. It was the coffee shop he and his best friend frequented, the very same one he’d been gorging himself with pancakes at these past couple minutes.

“Thanks, Lee Kuanlin,” he exclaims. “Give Lee Daehwi my thanks, too.”

“Gotcha,” Kuanlin smiles. “Here you go.”

He gives the stainless steel dispenser a firm shake, before pumping out cream onto Jihoon’s  _cappuccino._ “This cream reminds me of you.”

“Eh?” Jihoon exclaims, wiping at the crumbs on his plate. “Why’s that?”

“Ya know,” Kuanlin snickers. “It’s whipped.”

He stifles a laugh, running a finger through the underside of his nose. Jihoon grimaces at him in mock disgust, chucking a wad of crumpled table napkins at him. “I am  _not_ whipped _._ ”

“Keep on telling yourself that,” another voice speaks up. A head pokes out from within the kitchen, flashing him a mischievous grin.

It’s Kuanlin’s new boyfriend, the Student Council Treasurer, who mans the cashier at 2 Park Avenue, and helps Kuanlin prepare the sumptuous beverages they serve on occasion.

“Ugh... How long have you been standing there, Jinyoung-ah?” Jihoon asks him. “I nearly jumped right out of my skin.”

“I entered through the back door,” Jinyoung explains. He trudges over to where Kuanlin is polishing the dinnerware, pressing a kiss onto his cheek. “Hi there. How’ve you been?”

“Why ask?” Kuanlin chuckles. “You’ve been with me since this morning.”

“I worry for you every thirty minutes,” Jinyoung smiles. “That's why."

“Ugh,” Jihoon mutters. “Must be nice, having a boyfriend.”

Both their heads swivel his way simultaneously, as if in choreographed movement. “You want one?”

Jihoon stares at either of them in turns. “I never said that.”

“You never had to,” Jinyoung argues. “You need not say the words aloud for you to have spoken them.”

Jihoon ponders over this notion, thumbs twiddling around the rim of his coffee cup.

_A boyfriend?_

The idea is almost laughable.

_Of course not._

_They can’t be thinking…_

“Hey,” Jihoon exclaims. “Is  _that_ what this is about? Another jab at the fact that I’m missing my best friend? It’s only natural.”

“We never said that,” Kuanlin argues, raising both hands up as if in surrender. “You laid the cards out on the table yourself.”

“You need not say the words aloud for you to have spoken them,” Jihoon parrots. “Aren’t I right?”

Jinyoung shrugs, retrieving Jihoon’s empty plate before retreating into the kitchen. He lowers the plate into the sink, leaving it there for him to attend to later. He strolls back out onto the bar, fishing a laminated menu out from one of the compartments behind the counter.

“Which one was it again?” he wonders aloud, laying the menu atop the table. He twirls it about at angle, until it faces him upside-down, and Jihoon the right side up. “The very first item you ordered off of our menu.”

Jihoon’s cheeks flush in vivid colour, in evident response to the memory.

He clutches at his chest, as if to keep the pain at bay before it blooms there unwanted.

“ _Caffè macchiato_ ,” he exhales, tapping his finger against the illustration printed out onto the menu. “Bitter drink.”

“Is that so?” Kuanlin laughs. “I suppose it’s meant to be that way. How bitter was it? Not unpleasantly so, I hope.”

Jihoon wraps both hands around the coffee cup, taking in steam until it warms him from within.

“How bitter, huh?” he muses. “A lot more than the  _cappuccino_ is, for the ample helpings of milk _.”_

_And a lot less than I am, for losing my best friend._

_Park Woojin. Where the hell are you?_

***

 

**SUNDAY. 23 rd September, 2018. **

 

‘One  _caffè macchiato_  for Park Jihoon,” Kuanlin calls out. “On the house.”

“Eh?” Jihoon asks. “What’s the occasion?”

“Dumbo,” Kuanlin chuckles, ruffling Jihoon’s mop of pre-tousled hair. “The only other birthday you remember apart from yours is Woojin’s, and that saddens me.”

Jihoon gapes at him, miffed by the allegation.

“That’s not…” he begins. “That’s not true.”

Kuanlin’s eyes narrows into slits. “Is that all you have to say in your defense? You’d make a shitty lawyer, Park Jihoon.”

Jihoon stares him down, huffing lightly.

“I’m a Sports Science major,” he shrugs. “I’d rather break a hip bone on the basketball court than stress myself out bald at the  _judicial_ court, that’s for damn sure.”

“You calling yourself a criminal?” Kuanlin laughs. “Guilty as charged for liking Woojin far too much for your own good?”

“That’s not true,” he insists. “He’s a dumbass, and so are you.”

“Ouch. Can’t you let me off the hook, for once? It’s my special day.”

Jihoon flushes scarlet, gaze dropping in shame for the utter lack of common courtesy.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers. “Thanks for the drink. And I’m sorry for making an even shittier friend than I will an attorney.”

He sips at the  _caffé macchiato_  sheepishly, a milky filament settling onto his upper lip, right above his cupid’s bow. The rest he licks away, savouring the taste.

“That was bitter,” he admits. “But a lot tastier than I’ve come to expect.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Kuanlin shrugs, charmed by the flattery. “If milkier drinks are more to your taste, go for the  _caffé latte_  next time.”

The chimes by the doorway clink together moments later, footsteps shuffling into the café.

Jihoon can tell whose they are without looking.

“Happy birthday, buddy!” Woojin exclaims, offering Kuanlin an eager fist-bump. “I’ll have 2 Park’s specialty today.”

“Great choice,” Kuanlin nods. “One  _cappuccino grande_  for Park Woojin. My thanks for the greeting, bud. Makes up for this one, over here.”

He clucks a tongue at Jihoon, whose shoulders have slumped forwards, until he’s withdrawn even further into self-absorbed shame.

“I get it already,” Jihoon mutters. “I’m a terrible person.”

He sips at the coffee tentatively, unmindful of the bitter aftertaste.

The scalding heat burns him instead.

He sticks a tongue out, wincing in discomfort.

“Heh,” Woojin snorts. “Lame.”

Jihoon shoots him a withering glare. “Stop being an ass. That hurt.”

“Then start being a little more self-aware, for once,” Woojin responds, gaze flitting from Jihoon’s eyes to his mouth.

And then, without the barest of hints or the slightest of warnings, Woojin reaches out towards him, brushing the tip of his thumb against Jihoon’s lips in one startling, feather-light stroke.

Jihoon’s heart cartwheels around in his chest, utterly taken aback.

“What… what was that for?”

Woojin flashes him an impish grin, snaggletooth on full-blown display. “A favour.”

Something throbs violently in Jihoon’s chest, and he hopes it’s not his heart.

“Ex… excuse me?” he stutters, bewildered.

“Foam,” Woojin elaborates, gesturing around the sides of his mouth. “It looked as if you’d grown a frothy moustache. It was rather cute, I’ll admit. But I wager you’d have found it embarrassing, and that’s why I’ve wiped it clean for you. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Jihoon averts his gaze, disgruntled by the profound effect Woojin’s had on him these past couple weeks.

It never used to be this way, and he’s come dangerously close to thinking he’s out of his goddamn mind.

_For what?_

_Finding Woojin’s misaligned teeth and lopsided smile rather charming?_

_Being skittish around the guy he’s known before they were potty-trained enough to walk around without diapers?_

_Getting nervous after Woojin traced a finger along the lines of his mouth, because he looked stupid with the Santa milk-whiskers on?_

_Or all of the above?_

“Don’t do that again,” Jihoon warns. “Don’t you even dare.”

“Your mode of gratitude expression is novel,” Woojin chuckles. “Even cuter.”

“Stop that, you’re freaking me out.”

Woojin’s expression is unreadable, but he does as he’s told regardless. “Is that so?”

Woojin’s stark countenance serves only to worsen the burgeoning pain in Jihoon’s chest cavity, as if someone’s reached into his thorax and carved him out hollow.

 _Don’t look at me that way_ , he thinks.

“Don’t look at me that way,” he says aloud by accident.

Woojin’s expression is no longer unreadable. It morphs into hurt, and he averts his gaze immediately.

“Didn’t mean to.”

Kuanlin returns a moment later, Woojin’s drink atop a decorative saucer laid onto a miniature tray.

“Here you go,” he offers. “Not on the house, I’m afraid. Daehwi will ask for my head on a platter once he finds out I’ve given out one freebie too many. Two is overkill.”

“One too many?” Woojin echoes, graciously receiving his beverage. “Didn’t think you had other friends making stops at 2 Park Avenue. Apart from myself and this guy right here, of course. Congratulations on the Grand Opening, by the way. The café looks fantastic.”

“Thanks, bud,” Kuanlin smiles. “And you’re right. I  _don’t_  have other friends. One freebie alone is one freebie too many.”

“Jihoon gets special treatment, then?” Woojin quips. “Don’t you fall in love with my best friend, now.”

“Ugh,” Jihoon grunts. “Not gonna happen. We all know he’s into the other barista.”

Kuanlin’s eyes widen enough to challenge the size of Woojin’s saucer.

“Hey,” he whispers in alarm. “He might hear you. He’s right over there.”

Jihoon casts a sidelong glance Jinyoung’s way. He’s busy concocting a drink for the girls seated at the table across from theirs, whose eyes have followed Jinyoung devotedly from one corner of the café to another.

“Step your game up, Lee Kuanlin,” Jihoon exclaims. “The competition’s fierce. Any more delays and some other taker may just walk away with the jackpot.”

“He’s not a prize to be won,” Kuanlin argues, blushing profusely. He fans himself with the tray, visibly distraught. “Jinyoung's just… a friend. The same way you and Woojin are.”

“Not true,” Jihoon smirks. “I see the way you look at him. You’d sell the café in a heartbeat if he’d asked you to. Whereas Woojin and I… ugh. I’d rather sit my ass through a day’s worth of English lectures than date a guy like him. Or date a guy, period.”

“Merciless,” Kuanlin exclaims. He pats Woojin’s shoulder, as if to offer him consolation. “No worries. Jihoon’s not the only guy in the world.”

Woojin smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He reaches for the teaspoon, stirring the  _cappuccino_  art into messy circles, until the rabbit-shape devolves into distorted squiggles.

“There are other fish in the sea,” Woojin shrugs nonchalantly. “In fact… I’d try and catch you, if only you weren’t the President of the Bae Jinyoung Appreciation Association. If you were Bluefin tuna on a golden platter, then Jihoon’s a can of sardines nearing its expiration date.”

Kuanlin bursts into laughter, loud enough for Jinyoung’s head to whirl their way.

“Merciless,” he says. “But I’ll take it.”

Jihoon knows it’s a joke, and yet Woojin’s blatant flirtation with Kuanlin stings for a reason he can barely identify.

Jihoon chalks it up to the fact that he likes fish even less than he does coffee.

Kuanlin excuses himself moments later, his attention having been called by another patron at the door.

A pregnant pause settles in the air around them, before Woojin clears his throat through the silence.

“Hey… Jihoon-ah…” he begins, blowing at the steam rising from his cup. “I had something to confess.”

“Yeah?”

His lets his gaze rest upon Woojin.

They lock eyes immediately, and Jihoon can’t bring himself to look even the barest instance away.

“I have someone I like,” he whispers. “I wanted to know if… if you think I might be wrong to set self-doubt aside and have this person know.”

Jihoon’s heart is in shambles and he knows—afraid as he is to admit—that it’s because he’s on the brink of losing his best friend to some other stranger.

_Is it a girl? Is it Kuanlin? Is it a lie? Another joke?_

_I can’t tell._

_And neither is it any of my business._

He chides himself into taking the high road, into keeping his heart—selfish though it is—from taking the wheel and steering him off-track.

“Go ahead,” he smiles. “Go for whatever feels right.”

“It feels  _wrong_ , though,” Woojin admits. “I’m sure I’ll lose this person, should they find out. They’ve expressed zero interest in dating me, thus far.”

“Then don’t tell,” Jihoon backtracks, though he’s unsure of what’s compelling him into feeding Woojin misguided advice he hasn’t thought through himself. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

His intent is ignoble, and he knows this. It’s less  _‘don’t fall in love, if it’ll hurt you’_  than it is _‘don’t fall in love, because I can’t stand the thought’._

He laughs inwardly.

He’d rather lead Woojin astray, than lose his best friend to a nameless identity.

_Park Jihoon, you disgustingly selfish, bastard._

“Don’t tell, huh,” Woojin mutters under his breath, taking Jihoon’s words into consideration. “Stow away these feelings.”

“Lock them away,” Jihoon agrees. “Don’t ever let them know.”

***

 

Jihoon’s phone buzzes in his pocket, slicing clean through his train of thought. He ignores the incessant ringing, sure it’s a call from another one of his group-mates for the literary critique on the translated (and much to his chagrin, unabridged version) of Shakespeare’s  _Othello._

He rubs at both of his arms in swift, gentle motions, as if to banish the negative energy he’s nursed there. It works very little, his treacherous mind circling back to the memory of their first day at 2 Park Avenue, as if it’s a boomerang he can’t quite rid himself of.

_The farther I throw, the harder it hits me._

_This frightful realization I’ve sparred with since he left._

 “I miss him,” Jihoon confesses. “I really do.”

_He did leave me in the end._

_Karma’s a vengeful bitch._

“We know,” Jinyoung nods, cocking a head towards him. “We miss him, too. But aren’t you taking that call?”

“Call?” Jihoon blinks. :Shouldn't be that important."

He reaches into his pocket, fishing his phone out from within its depths. To his surprise, he’s received not a call from an outraged group-mate, but one from an unknown source, with an area code he can’t quite identify.

_It's not spam, is it?_

He hesitates shortly before resolving to pick up.

“Hello?”

 _“Hi there,”_  a familiar voice chirps, shattering the world around him.  _“How’ve you been?”_

His mouth hangs agape for a minute, unable to process what he’s heard from the other end of the line.

‘Woojin…?” he ventures finally. “Is that you?”

 _“You’ve been missing me haven’t you?”_  Woojin teases.  _“You sound as if you’ve been in mourning for a week, and now the friend you’ve buried alive is at your doorstep because you’ve forgotten to nail his coffin shut.”_

Jihoon can hardly believe his ears.

Or the gall Woojin has to crack a joke at his expense despite having left without a proper goodbye.

 _Have I gone delusional?_ He thinks.  _Or has my brain been hardwired into playing jack-in-the-box tricks with me when least I’d expect it to?_

“That’s also being delusional.”

 _“You say something?”_ Woojin asks.  _“The feedback’s choppy. Sorry about that.”_

“Sorry, huh,” he exclaims, gathering his wits about him. “You keep your student exchange plans a secret from me, leave me on read for a month, ignore the calls I make,  _replace_ the phone number you've given me without giving me the slightest heads-up in return, and then just…  _sashay_  your way back into my life, as if you haven’t already tossed me aside like a fat-ass sack of pock-marked potatoes? And have you ever been sorry for all  _that_? NO? WELL WHO CARES IF THE LINE IS GLITCHY, WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN???”

The reply is silence, until Jihoon’s almost sure Woojin’s hung up on him already.

 _“Where… have I been?”_  he says finally.  _“I’ve been in Tokyo for a semester-long Student Exchange Program. You already know this, though…”_

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS!”

_“Calm down, just let me explain for a second.”_

“A SECOND IS OVER! I DEMAND AN EXPLANATION—“

 _“I’ve missed you so goddamn much,"_  Woojin interrupts. _"Thoughts of you have consumed me entirely, and I thought I’d go bonkers without giving you a call, in spite of the fact that I’m not supposed to.”_

Jihoon’s heart stills, and it’s as if Woojin’s words have thawed through the icicles he’s built around his resentful heart.

“That’s not fair,” Jihoon whines. “You can’t just say such things, you dumbass. How am I supposed to stay mad at you, now?”

_“Don’t. I can barely even eat, or sleep, or drink these days.”_

“Really? How are you still alive?”

_“This call has me re-energized.”_

“You sound like you’re joking.”

“Heh,” Woojin snorts. “Still as lame as ever, Park Jihoon. Can’t believe you’re buying all this.”

Jihoon feels like chucking his phone out the window.

“Get your ass back on South Korean soil," he says. "So I can whoop it all the way back to Japan.”

Jihoon hears the trill of Woojin’s laughter, and it comforts him, somehow.

_Of course. It's just another one of Woojin's harmless, little jokes._

_That's how it's been for more than a decade, though._

_We mess around, fight, cringe at the thought of receiving the other's affection._

_Why should I expect things to change between us, now?_

“Oh fuck it,” he says, smiling to himself. “I’ve missed you too. How could I not have? You’re my best friend.”

“Good news, then!” Woojin exclaims, and Jihoon can almost hear him smiling from across the border. “My documents were processed much sooner than I’d anticipated. I’m no longer returning next week.”

“Eh?” Jihoon blinks, brows furrowing together. “When are you returning, then?”

“Make me a promise, first,” Woojin bargains. “That you’ll come fetch me at the airport.”

“What? No,” Jihoon frowns. “I’m too lazy for that.”

“Come fetch me.”

“No.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please with rainbow sprinkles on top?”

“NO.”

“Pretty please with Pocky sticks and Meiji chocolates on top and at the sides because I’ve brought home three bags worth of snacks as souvenirs from Japan?”

“SAY NO MORE!" Jihoon exclaims, mouth drooling at the thought. "I'll be there with a banner and a welcoming committee at the ready. What time is the flight?”

“HAH,” Woojin exclaims, pleased at himself for having hit the bulls eye on Jihoon’s weakness. “The flight home is slated for the 15th. I’ll arrive at around five in the afternoon. I’ll wait for you there.”

Gears churn in Jihoon’s brain, eyes widening in comprehension.

“The 15th?” he clarifies. “But isn’t that—“

“Yeah,” Woojin interrupts, already in jolly spirits. “The 15th. Don’t you forget, Park Jihoon. The airport, at five o’clock sharp. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

 ~CHAPTER ONE END~


	2. Mondays are Meant for Awaiting Your Return

**MONDAY. 15 th July, 2019. **

 

Jihoon is lost at the airport.

It’s as though he’s stranded, marooned at sea, a tumultuous wave of eager tourists, keen excursionists, and jet-setting businessmen either milling about him or speeding thoughtlessly past, jostling him about with little concern for common complaisance.

Or perhaps it’s the other way around, and _he’s_ the one unwittingly bumping into strangers. He squints at his surroundings, seeing little more than a hazy blur, unable to tell whether or not he’s about to step on someone’s foot, crash into a wall, or board a plane to Jeju Island entirely by accident.

Life sucks, sometimes. _Especially_ if you trip over yourself, lose your contact lenses to the faux-fur carpet, forget which drawer you’ve kept the spare frames in... and go practically blind for the rest of the afternoon, because you’re running short on time before your prodigal best friend _finally_ flies his ass home.

He had to be at the airport pronto, corrective eyewear be damned.

Jihoon is sure he’s wrongly chosen the worst manner of recourse, and is still waiting for his Klutz of the Year trophy to arrive at their doorstep.

He sighs defeatedly, trudging languidly towards a cloud of silver, armed with doses of extra caution lest he knock absently into some other obstacle. Thankfully enough, he doesn’t, settling himself down the moment his shin hits the crisp metal leg of the airport bench.

“Not the best time to have stumbled over thin air,” he whispers to himself. “Thanks a lot, Jihoon-ah.”

He leans against the backrest, sighing dejectedly.

_What time is it anyway?_

_By my estimate, Woojin should’ve already disembarked from the plane by now._

He pats at the pocket of his jeans, locating his mobile phone shortly thereafter. He stares at the screen, regretting it immediately.

_Oh right. I can’t properly see a damn thing._

“Well,” he mutters. “Guess this day’s gone off to a fantastic start.”

Almost on cue, the phone vibrates, and Jihoon swipes at the greenish dot as if his survival depended wholly upon it.

“Hello?” He speaks into the microphone. “Who is it?”

 _"You’ve deleted my number from your mobile phone book already?”_ an oddly familiar voice speaks up. _“Oh, well. Guess I deserve it.”_

 Jihoon’s heart pounds in his chest, nervous energy dancing through him.

_That can't have been… has my hearing gone faulty, too?_

_Because this voice sounds a lot like…_

_A woman’s._

_And not just any woman._

“Kang Soojin?” he hesitates. “Is that you?”

 _"Ahh. There we go. I was beginning to think you’d wiped me from memory, somehow. That would’ve been unfair, given the amount of time it’s taken_ me _to get over you. I still cry into my pillow, at times.”_

 Jihoon laughs, wracking his brain for the proper response.

A call from Kang Soojin is the very last thing on earth he’d expect to receive. The last time they’d come into contact was about a year-and-a-half ago, a week after he’d _dumped_ her, following multiple failed attempts at getting him back.

A reckless decision made on his part, with neither Soojin’s consent, nor her knowledge.

A decision for which, to this day, he can’t quite fathom a justifiable reason for.

' _It’s just not working out anymore’ explains nothing._

_But at the time, that was all he could give her._

“Uh… hi,” he manages pathetically. “Great to, uhm… finally hear from you again.”

_I did assume you hate my guts, after all._

_"That’s a lie,”_ Soojin chuckles, amused by his shaky response. _“You sound as if doomsday’s fallen upon you, and now you’re regretting all the major decisions you’ve made in life thus far.”_

“Hah hah,” Jihoon fakes a laugh. “No, I... I mean it. I’m quite relieved to know you haven’t inked my name onto a cursed voodoo doll somewhere.”

 _"_ _Ahh,”_ she giggles. _“Don’t give me any ideas.”_

“Not my intention,” he says, horrified. “Not at all.”

Jihoon grimaces in discomfort, praying inwardly for the call to end before he embarrasses himself any further.

 _For the nth time, Soojin-_ noona _... I’m sorry._

_Can’t the reunion with this disgraceful ex-boyfriend wait until he’s able to see past the bridge of his nose, at least?_

_I don’t think you’re all too happy,”_ Soojin insists. _“Your expression’s looking rather grim from my vantage point.”_

“Oh,” he whispers, utterly chagrined. “I can’t see myself, how am I supposed to know?”

And then, it hits him.

“Wait a minute… you can _see_ me?”

 _"Y_ _eah,”_ Soojin responds. _“I’m at the airport. Standing right in front of you.”_

_Well, fuck._

_"You can’t see me?”_

Jihoon lifts his head slightly, focusing and refocusing on the vague humanoid silhouette in front of him.

“If you’re the willowy figure in the foreground… then, yeah. Guess I can see you.”

_How was I supposed to know that was you?_

Soojin saunters his way, and all Jihoon can do is stare, mouth agape as if in wonder.

A sharp pang shoots through him, but it’s unlike the pain he’s sustained in Woojin’s absence, even less so the pain he inflicts upon himself in Woojin’s company.

_This one is… how shall I explain it?_

_More on the receiving end of guilt, than the end burdening someone else for it._

“How’ve you been?” Soojin speaks up, and by the sound of her voice, Jihoon is sure it’s her.

The mind, though it seeks to forget, is hampered by a heart of unflinching remembrance.

“I’m fine,” Jihoon smiles. “Albeit a tad disoriented.”

“Why’s that?” Soojin leans forwards, as if to examine him in scrutiny. Jihoon fidgets in discomfiture, looking hastily away.

“Ahh,” Soojin exclaims. “You aren’t wearing your lenses, are you? Did the expiration date slip your mind? You didn’t think to purchase a replacement?”

“I lost them,” Jihoon explains. “Tripped with the container open. Made a Jihoon-shaped imprint upon the carpet in the process. Not that I’m proud of the fact, or anything.”

Soojin laughs in amusement, and Jihoon’s heart lurches at the trill of it.

_I used to love the sound of that._

Jihoon blinks at her, less an attempt to perceive her more distinctly, than a show of bewilderment as to why things were playing out in this manner.

_Why are we engaging in casual conversation, all of a sudden?_

_The last time we talked, I said I’d leave you for good, then left you to bite the dust without a clear-cut excuse as to why I believed it best for us to say that we’re over._

_Just like that, at the snap of a finger._

He pats at the empty seat next to him, inviting her reluctantly over.

She obliges, sweeping at the underside of her skirt before she leaves an unsightly crease.

“You waiting for someone?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “That’s right. I’m waiting for a call.”

“And?”

“So far… I may or may not have been pranked into believing his flight home is today.”

_Now that I’ve mentioned it, what right have I to complain about having gotten left behind, when I’ve done much the same to Kang Soojin, who herself has done no wrong?_

_What goes around comes around, does it not?_

_The wake-up call was well-deserved, you jerk._

“You jerk…” he whispers to himself.

“Still cussing under your breath?” Soojin asks. “Some things just don’t change overtime, do they? Kind of like how you still fall out of balance, for no particular reason. And how you can’t bring yourself to tell me the things written so very lucidly in those eyes of yours. They’re much too expressive for your own good.”

An excruciating silence ensues, and Jihoon is glad he can’t see the aggrievance he’s stricken upon Soojin’s countenance.

“I know this won’t come close to cutting it,” he whispers. “But I am regretful, for the things I’ve put you through. You deserved an explanation. You still do.”

Jihoon is relieved she’s near enough to fall within his line of clearer vision, because she acknowledges his remorse with a smile.

“I’ve long since forgiven you, Jihoon-ah,” she says. “Besides… I should’ve seen it coming from a mile away. The signs were apparent, even way back when. Only the both of you were blind to the fact.”

“The fact that what?”

“That you have only the space in your heart enough for one love at a time.”

“That’s…” Jihoon ventures.

The intercom buzzes a moment later, interrupting the impulsive outburst.

 _Please be advised that flight delays and cancellations are expected due to the adverse weather conditions,_ the announcer cautions. _Kindly check with your airline for the latest information and your flight status._

“What time is it, exactly?” he inquires. “He asked for a meeting at five.”

“It’s half-past five, though,” Soojin replies. “Could his flight have gotten delayed, as well?”

“I should’ve been notified beforehand,” Jihoon says. “Though I suppose he may have forgotten, given his track record.”

He rises from his seat abruptly. “Sorry, _noona_. Gotta go.” 

“Eh?” Soojin exclaims. “Where to?”

Jihoon looks about, unable to make out where it is he’s walked aimlessly into. He can’t have made it _that_ far away from the arrival hall, and yet he may have taken a wrong turn once or twice.

“I have no idea.”

Right, Soojin laughs, leaving her seat as well.

 _"_ You’re blind without your lenses, aren’t you?” She links an arm through his, disarming him momentarily. “Here, let me help you. Waiting area, right? I’m headed there too, to fetch my _dongsaeng_.”

“Thanks, but—” Jihoon begins, and yet his protests fall upon deaf ears.

Soojin leads Jihoon away, tugging lightly at his arm to keep him going. A small voice at the back of his mind hisses at him, insisting that it may be a much wiser move for him to follow readily suit.

“How’d you even make it to the airport?” Soojin inquires. “That must’ve been quite the impressive feat.”

“I booked an Uber,” Jihoon shrugs. “Navigation was of little consequence until I got here.”

“Don’t you keep prescriptive eyewear in one of the boxes by the side of your bed? The pinstriped one, with your name taped to the lid.”

‘Eh?” Jihoon’s eyes widen at her. “Was that… where it was?”

“Yeah,” Soojin says, a half-smile falling upon her lips. “We keep photos of our dates in there, too. The ones from arcade photo booths.”

A merciless barrage of shame floods through him, his mouth sewn forcibly shut.

_How am I to respond to that?_

_I’d completely forgotten._

“Woojin, right?” Soojin asks, mending the stiff atmosphere.

“Eh?” Jihoon blinks. “How’d you know that?”

“I didn’t,” she laughs. “Though I suppose he’s always been the only other person you’d go the extra mile for. You aren’t the type to go out on a limb just for anyone. And certainly _not_ without your visual faculties.”

They arrive at a populous area, footsteps strolling past in every possible direction.

“I did envy him, even back then,” Soojin whispers. “At times it felt as though you preferred his company to mine.”

“He’s my best friend,” Jihoon clarifies. “I didn’t like him the same way I did you.”

“Maybe not,” she agrees. “But that was then, and this is now. A lot can change, in a year’s time. Who knows? Tomorrow, your relationship may steer you off-course, in territories previously uncharted. Next week, you may no longer be single.”

“Ugh,” Jihoon exclaims, blushing from head to toe. “Why does everyone _insist_ that I’m in love with my best friend?”

“I never said that,” she says, and Jihoon can tell that she’s thoroughly enjoying their exchange. “You put those words into my mouth yourself. No need for you to get so worked up about it.”

They brisk-walk arm-in-arm towards the arrival hall, or at least, Jihoon squints, a murky semblance of what the arrival hall may look like.

“We’re here,” Soojin points out. “Be on the lookout, he might’ve been waiting.”

“I’d do that,” Jihoon agrees. “If _looking_ was an option to begin with.”

Moments later, someone calls out to them from behind, and it’s the second instance in a row that he’s hearing a strangely recognizable voice, though it’s not quite the one he’s spent months looking for.

“Daniel!” Soojin exclaims, delighted. “There you are.”

Two imposing figures walk their way, one marginally taller than the other. He assumes one is Daniel, Soojin’s younger brother, and the other Daniel’s mystery companion.

“Oh?” Daniel exclaims. “It’s Park Jihoon! Haven’t seen you in a while, bud. Though I have to admit, I couldn’t have seen this coming.”

Before he and Soojin broke up, Daniel used to make frequent trips to the room he and Woojin shared, and thus they’d gotten rather chummy over the years by default. They lost contact after Daniel’s graduation from college, and now the only way by which Jihoon could update himself on the ongoings in Daniel’s life were the magazines he modeled in by profession.

“Hi there,” he greets sheepishly, before realizing he and Soojin are still engaged in heavily misinterpretable skinship.

He yanks his arm away in consternation. “This is not what it looks like, I promise.”

“Damn right, it shouldn’t be,” Daniel chuckles. “Because Soojin- _noona’_ s gotten engaged already. She can’t be fooling around with the likes of you, anymore. Haven’t you seen the ring on her finger?”

Inwardly, Jihoon is shell-shocked by the news, but he fights to keep his expression neutral.

_So this is why she’s forgiven me._

_Because she’s found a lifetime of happiness elsewhere, and she couldn’t have done that had I not let her go._

_The stars do align in baffling ways, at times._

“I haven’t seen the ring, actually,” he says, scratching at his neck awkwardly. “I’m half-blind. And by the way… congratulations, _noona_. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Soojin replies. “I hope that doesn’t make you feel weird. Things did move rather fast, after all.”

“No worries,” Jihoon responds. “There’s a five-year gap between us, isn’t there? About time you’d gotten hitched.”

Soojin giggles, nudging lightly at his arm. Jihoon lets slip a mischievous grin, and he finds himself surprised by how natural it is for them to fall into easy banter.

“Ah, you haven’t been introduced, have you?” Daniel chimes in. “Jihoon-ah, this is my boyfriend, Ong Seongwoo. We met at the modeling agency. You can see him clearly, can’t you? His visuals shine through the haze, I’m sure.”

“I’m afraid that’s not what the laws of nature would dictate,” Jihoon says.  “Nevertheless, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Hong Seongwoo- _ssi_.”

“It’s Ong,” Hong Seongwoo retorts. “But thanks. The pleasure’s all mine.”

Daniel snakes an arm around Seongwoo’s shoulder, holding him close.

Jihoon, for some reason almighty, can’t bring himself to peel his gaze away from the sight of them, foggy though it may be by virtue of his unwieldy nearsightedness.

_I wonder what it’s like, having a boyfriend._

His mind drifts asunder, half-lost in thought.

_In another life, if Woojin and I were to get together…_

A mental picture of the both of them in each other’s arms, with their lips locked shamelessly together flashes through his bold imagination.

He gasps audibly at the thought, ashamed of himself for even _thinking_ it.

“No, no, no,” he mumbles. “Let’s not go there, Park Jihoon.”

“Go where?” Seongwoo inquires. “Are you avoiding someone?”

Jihoon gulps, combing through his memory for the perfect way out of this conversation.

“That’s not it. I’m fine.”

He unslings his backpack from his shoulder, fishing out the banner he’d prepared the night prior.

_This’ll help me find him, won’t it?_

_I should be excited. It isn’t as if things are bound to change from here on out. Things will simply… fall back into order._

_As they were._

“You sure you aren’t avoiding someone?” Daniel asks, heckling Jihoon’s inner monologue. “You’re looking sort of listless. As if you’re retreating into yourself.”

He and Soojin exchange glances, and Jihoon ventures a guess that both their eyes, that very moment, were filled with ardent worry.

“Well, yeah,” Jihoon surrenders. “Maybe I am… avoiding _something.”_

“I hope to the high heavens that whoever it is,” another voice interjects. “It’s not me.”

Jihoon’s world rocks off-kilter, shock coursing through him.

He attempts an about face, but before he has the time enough to do so, an arm pulls him in by the waist, the all-too familiar scent of musk and cashmere pervading his senses.

He’s standing close enough for Jihoon to identify him without a hitch, and yet Jihoon can’t find the resolve enough to brave even the pithiest glance Woojin’s way.

“If I may,” Woojin speaks up. “He and I have business to attend to. I’ll be off with him now.”

“Yah, Park Woojin-” Jihoon attempts. “That isn’t-”

“2 Park Avenue,” Woojin interjects, glancing at Soojin tersely. “Café in Hongdae. Look it up, you’ll find him there in the afternoons.”

He offers both Daniel and Seongwoo a polite bow. “You guys are welcome there, too. I'm Park Woojin, by the way.”

“Ahh, no,” Soojin stutters. “We met by chance. I didn’t come looking for him.”

“The offer stands either way,” Woojin shrugs.

“Sweet!” Daniel exclaims. “Seongwoo and I are local café enthusiasts, ourselves.”

“Ideal for dates,” Seongwoo nods in accord. “The ambiance is charming. Ahh, the name's Ong Seongwoo.”

“You’ll feel right at home, then, Seongwoo- _ssi_ ,” Woojin grins. “2 Park is the perfect hangout for these two Parks. Park Woojin and Park Jihoon.”

“Ah, I get it!” Seongwoo exclaims, sweeping a hand full-circle around the pair of them.

“You guys are dating, too?”

Jihoon stares at him, stone-faced, cheeks flushing a healthy scarlet. He realizes belatedly that Woojin’s right hand remains in rest upon his waist, and thus he backs away from their point of contact, utterly mortified. 

“Talk’s over,” he declares. “Gotta scram. Nice to meet you guys, pay me a visit anytime.”

“Ah wait, Jihoon-ah—“ Soojin begins.

Jihoon pays her no mind, dragging Woojin along by the arm.

“Hey, wait!” Woojin exclaims, yanking at the handle of the colossal luggage bag he’s carried with him. Jihoon pays him no mind either, looking only to get the hell away from where the others might notice how fiercely he’s blushing.

“I SAID WAIT!” Woojin bellows. “You’re going the wrong way!”

Jihoon stops abruptly in his tracks, brusque enough for Woojin to knock incidentally into him from behind.

“Ah,” he says, embarrassed. “Where… where are we?”

Woojin clucks a tongue at him in disapproval, taking him gently by the hand. Jihoon recoils in alarm, ears reddening furiously.

Woojin peers at him for a moment, an ambiguous expression etched onto his features. Moments later he reaches for Jihoon’s trembling hand once more.

“Relax,” he says. “I can tell your eyesight’s a problem. So just… let me hold your hand for once, okay?”

Jihoon finds himself at a loss for words, the defenses he’s built up crumbling into cinders. He lets Woojin lead him by the hand towards the lobby, hyper-aware of the smooth texture of Woojin’s palm, the soothing warmth of his skin.

He goes crimson uncontrollably, unsure of what’s gotten into him.

_Why am I the only one affected by this?_

“Sit down,” Woojin offers, laying both hands against Jihoon’s shoulders. Jihoon does as he’s told, observing Woojin’s movements in steadfast calm.

He’s unzipping the front-pocket of his luggage bag, for god knows what reason.

Moments later Jihoon feels a light tap against his shoulder.

“Close your eyes,” Woojin says. “I might poke them.”

“Eh, but—“

“Stubborn, as always,” Woojin exclaims, thumbs passing over Jihoon’s eyelids, and it’s the gentlest he’s ever been despite the sharp outburst. “I’d almost forgotten how rebellious you were."

Beneath eyes half-closed, Jihoon espies the nimble movements of Woojin’s slender fingers. They hover by his cheek, and he feels something else—something _plastic—_ sliding past both of his ears. He stiffens palpably, attention drifting towards the fragrance of Woojin’s manly perfume.

_Yet another triviality he didn’t care for in the least, before Woojin’s unceremonious departure._

_And yet… how come I notice, without even meaning to?_

“There you go,” Woojin says. “All better?”

Jihoon’s eyes reopen, and this time around the once-bleak world greets him in high-definition. His mouth flies open, only then making sense of the situation he’s landed in.

He’s wearing eyeglasses, and Woojin’s knelt on one knee right in front of him.

“Better?” Woojin repeats.

Jihoon gapes at him, dumbfounded. “H-how did you…”

“I’ve seen you without your lenses a couple times before,” Woojin explains. “I notice such things.”

“You’ve been carrying my other set of spectacles with you? I thought I’d lost them eons ago.”

“I found them in my luggage,” Woojin shrugs. “Remember that school trip we’d gone on last year? We left your frames unpacked, I’m guessing. You’re lucky I have them with me now. Otherwise you’d have no choice but to cling onto me for dear life. Not that I mind.”

Woojin flashes him a playful grin, and Jihoon can’t help but think of how much he’s missed the signature snaggletooth.

_Many a fangirl’s fallen victim to that good-natured smile of yours._

_I suppose it is kind of… cute?_

And then self-awareness hits him like a five-ton boulder.

“Wait a second,” he exclaims. “Are you _flirting_ with me?”

Woojin’s eyes regard him with a certain sense of wonder, as if to unravel his cipher and probe him for meaning.

“It’s just a joke,” he smiles. “Relax.”

He reaches out tentatively, ruffling Jihoon’s tidy mop of hair. “Haven’t you missed me?”

He smiles again, more affectionate this time, and that’s all it takes for Jihoon to remember how long he’s waited to see that very same expression, not onscreen with miles of land and stretches of ocean between them, but in the flesh, right before his very eyes. 

Everything else flies out the window, self-control included.

Tears streak down the sides of his face, and he makes no move to wipe them anyway.

“Eh?” Woojin exclaims, blinking at him in astonishment. He settles himself beside Jihoon, peering at him closely. “H-hey… are you crying? Is it my fault?”

He rubs at his nape, utterly clueless. “Ah, people will think I’ve done you wrong, and—”

He scans the vicinity, and sure enough they’ve attracted the attention of curious onlookers. Some point to them discreetly, others watch them in fascination, still others avert their gazes as if to pretend they’ve been paying no heed.

“Ah,” Woojin whispers. “As expected. You’re quite the troublesome friend, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” Jihoon frowns, patting mildly at his cheek. “This is all your fault.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Woojin stares into his eyes for a moment, as if to give himself the time enough to think his actions through. And then, he extends a hand outward, reaching for Jihoon’s cheek. 

His touch is oddly comforting, and his eyes, ever the brightest mirror to the truth he’s kept secure, betray a sense of longing parallel to Jihoon’s own.

“Looks like you’ve been missing me every week, yourself,” Jihoon challenges. “Is that right?”

Woojin gives him a firm shake of the head, caressing Jihoon’s cheek with his thumb, as if to trace the line of moisture his tears have left upon them. “Not really.”

“You idiot. Play along with me, for once.”

“You’re wrong, though,” Woojin insists, smiling at him. “I did miss you. Not every week, but every single damn day.”

Jihoon turns away in embarrassment, the voice of reason within him convinced that Woojin’s reverted back to his silly mind games.

“That won’t work on me,” he scoffs. “Try again.”

“Still mad at me?” Woojin pouts. “A shame. I thought our reunion would’ve been a touch more… _touching_ than this. You promised me a welcoming committee.”

“Oh, right,” Jihoon says, rummaging through the contents of his backpack. He unearths a small banner, thrusting it into Woojin’s upturned palm. “Here’s your welcoming committee.”

Woojin unfolds the banner, eyes alight with curiosity.

“Welcome back, Park Woojin,” he reads aloud. “You traitor.”

Jihoon snickers at him, pleased by the stunned reaction.

“I do recall you’ve promised me snacks.”

He holds a hand out, waggling his fingers about. “Where’s my reward?”

Instead of a proper response, Woojin takes the hand Jihoon’s extended, cupping it in both of his own.

Jihoon blinks at him, unsure of what to do.

_What’s with the romantic atmosphere?_

“Is this a proposal?” Jihoon laughs, a paltry attempt at dispelling the nervous tension between them.

“Maybe it is,” Woojin says simply. “Would that be a problem?”

Jihoon can hardly believe his ears. “Excuse me?”

Nothing could’ve prepared him for what was to come next, and Park Jihoon would realize too late that in wishing for Woojin’s return, he’d get more than what he’d previously bargained for. 

“Say, Park Jihoon,” Woojin says, dead serious. “I know this might be a little surprising… but will you go out with me?”

 

~CHAPTER TWO END~

  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, how've you guys been? I don't have much to say this time around, but I hope you liked this update! Personally, I had lots of fun writing this one, due in part to the fact that I love introducing original characters into my stories. Jihoon's ex-girlfriend Soojin plays a larger part in this story (even though she's engaged, which, hint: Woojin doesn't know yet LOL) so I hope you guys anticipate what else is in store~ Also yes, there are tiny helpings of Ongniel in this story too (not a lot, though. 2Park will pretty much hog 90% of the spotlight from here on out). 
> 
> Hope to see you in Chapter 3! Thanks for reading~


	3. Tuesdays are Meant for Practical Jokes

**Tuesday, 16th July 2019.**

Jihoon spent all morning dwelling over the exact same words from the afternoon prior.

He’s scarcely managed even a wink’s worth of sleep, tossing and turning about, cocooned underneath the colossal duvet. Though he’s blanketed in warmth, he’s afforded the bare minimum in terms of comfort, hence the struggle in subduing the tumult stirring up a maelstrom within him.

Six words, strangers to his ears.

And yet… spoken in a voice more familiar than familiarity itself.

_Will you go out with me?_

He rolls in log formation across the bed, feet smacking in fierce rhythm against the mattress.

“AAAAHH,” he screams into his pillow, burying his face against the fabric in order to muffle the sound of his voice. As it happens, his roommate and returnee best friend Woojin is taking a short bath before they head out for breakfast, and the last thing Jihoon needs is for him to find out his words—whether he meant them or not—have an effect abject enough for Jihoon to forfeit a night’s worth of shut-eye over.

The million-dollar question stands, regardless: on a scale of one to Park Woojin’s _twisted_ sense of humour, how honest is this “go out with me” offer to begin with?

_Was it spoken in earnest, or in jest?_

“I’ll give it a five, at best,” Jihoon murmurs. “It must’ve been a joke. A ploy to pull at my strings, make up for all the opportunities he’s missed at pranking me, given the amount of time he’s spent away.”

He hugs Bunny Hoonie to himself, the graying plushie his mother gave him for his twelfth birthday, one he hasn’t outgrown for reasons he cares neither to expound upon nor admit to.

Somehow, Bunny Hoonie smells like Park Woojin’s shampoo.

He hurls it across the room in alarm, catapulting it onto the bed adjacent.

That very instant, the door to the bathroom clicks abruptly open.

“Is that a present for me?” Woojin inquires, pointing a thumb at Bunny Hoonie planted face-down against the folds of his comforter.

Jihoon’s eyes, ever the traitorous rebels, widen into full-on basins at the sight of him.

His hair is dripping wet, fingers combing lazily through them. He slicks his fringe back, exposing his forehead, flashing Jihoon a devilish grin.

He’s also naked, save for the towel hanging loose around his waist.

Which means his abs are exposed in all their glory, glistening in moisture, and Jihoon can’t quite fight the urge to stare in wonder at them.

_HOLY SHIT._

_How often did this guy work out in Japan?_

“Hey,” Woojin smirks. “If you like them that much, then don’t just sit there. Come over here, you’re free to touch them anytime you’d like.”

Jihoon blushes profusely, coming to his senses far too late. He chucks a pillow at Woojin, who grabs at it reflexively mid-air.

“Put a shirt on, you idiot!” he demands. “Don’t just traipse around the room like some Michelangelo sculpture.”

He averts his gaze, shielding the roseate flush of his cheeks with his sleeve.

“Oh please,” Woojin huffs. “I’m a _lot_ more well-endowed than that pitiable _David_ statue. If you needed proof, I—”

“HEY,” Jihoon exclaims. “Keep it PG-13.”

He scans the room, careful not to look in Woojin’s general direction. He vaults towards the closet, rummaging through Woojin’s stack of clothing. He unearths a smaller towel from underneath the sweatshirt pile, tugging forcibly enough for the mound to fall apart into a messy heap.

“Here,” Jihoon offers, marching Woojin’s way, gaze fixed at a spot behind his ear. He thrusts the towel against Woojin’s bare chest, striding past as fast as his feet can carry him. “Use this if you aren’t retreating back into the bathroom.”

“Thanks, man,” Woojin says. “Though it isn’t as if you’ve seen me topless for the very first time. Wasn’t this a part of your daily routine before I left?”

“Things are different now,” Jihoon argues without thinking straight, regretting his words the very moment they slip.

“Oh? Why is that?”

Jihoon plops back onto his bed with a thud.

_Stop playing dumb._

_You know as well as I the exact reason why._

“You don’t have feelings for me now, do you?” Woojin laughs heartily at him, as if to make light of Jihoon’s distress. “I was _kidding_ , Jihoon-ah. About the date. I had no idea you’d react that way, though. You stormed out of my sight faster than I could manage to track you. You lost me at the airport on purpose.”

Jihoon did expect Woojin to confess he’d been messing around sooner or later, but he could never have seen the sharp pang of disappointment coming.  

 _Why is that disappointing?_ He asks himself.

_Stop confusing yourself._

“You deserved it,” he mutters under his breath, sighing in despondence. “Why’d I even go through the trouble of fetching you…”

He sneaks a peek at Woojin drying himself with the towel, a little mesmerized by his athletic physique and glowing, sun-kissed skin.

Loathe as he may be to admit, Woojin’s figure is mighty impressive. He rubs awkwardly at his nape, stiffening under the weight of Woojin’s piercing gaze.

“The offer stands,” Woojin shrugs, smirking deviously at him. “I’m all up for grabs.”

Jihoon’s left eye twitches in irritation.

_How come it’s this easy for you to say such things, when I’m remarkably disturbed by even the slightest deviation from your characteristic non-flirtatious behaviour?_

“You’re really pushing this, aren’t you?” Jihoon exhales. “Stop teasing me, already.”

“I can’t help being a tease,” Woojin shrugs, slinging the smaller towel over his shoulder. “If simply by standing here, your eyes rivet towards me… then that’s all on _you_. Isn’t it?”  

Heat rises to Jihoon’s cheeks, felled by the accusation.

_That can’t it be it._

_You idiot._

Baiting him even further, Woojin’s slender fingers make their descent along the length of his torso, reaching for the towel around his waist, and by extension the limit of Jihoon’s tested patience.

“YOU IDIOT,” Jihoon exclaims. His right hand fumbles for the other pillow, tossing it frantically Woojin’s way.

This time around, he puts up zero resistance. The pillow flies in an arc, perilously low, hitting Woojin’s groin area full-force.

And then—to Jihoon’s absolute horror—the towel comes decisively loose, as if in slow-motion, and Jihoon has the time enough to gasp for air before it slides unceremoniously onto the bedroom floor.

***

“Please, forgive me,” Woojin pleads the hundredth time over. “I didn’t mean to flash you my, uhm... yeah, _that_. It was an accident.”

Jihoon pretends he’s heard nothing, sipping nonchalantly at his creamy Flat White at their usual table at 2 Park Avenue, spurning the inner turmoil rumbling at his core.

 _Don’t think I’ll let this slip that easily,_ he thinks to himself.

 _Certainly_ _not as easily as you’ve let that blasted towel slip until you’ve practically flashed me your—_

“Asshole,” he mumbles, concealing his flushed expression beneath the sleeve of his woollen sweater. An x-rated snapshot of the earlier catastrophe flashes vividly through his treacherous memory, persisting until he’s much too embarrassed to look Woojin in the eye. “Remind me why I’ve wanted you back again…”

“Eh?” Woojin prods. “You say something?”

“Hmph,” Jihoon pouts, crossing both arms across his chest. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“You’re really dragging this game out, aren’t you?” Woojin huffs. “The play-hard-to-get-until-he’s begging-on-his-knees-for-pardon game.”

He grins slyly, blowing gently at the steam rising from his cup of Cappuccino Grande. “It’s kinda hot.”

Jihoon’s eyes narrow into serpentine slits. “By ‘hot’, I hope you meant the coffee.”

“If I meant you, do I get a prize?”

Jihoon groans in exasperation. “Will you stop flirting with me, already? I don’t happen to enjoy you being so goddamn disingenuous.”

“Chillax,” Woojin says. “Why do my antics bother you as much as they do? They never used to, you know. You’re sending me mixed signals yourself.”

He rocks his coffee cup in gentle, circular motions, contents swirling about, the foam at the rim threatening spill-over. “You don’t _actually_ have feelings for me, do you? Is that why you’re pissed? Because you think I’ve been much too flippant about all this, toying around with your emotions, as if it’s all just… some _practical joke_?”

“Don’t be so cocky,” Jihoon retorts, harsher than he’d initially intended. “That’s… that’s not it at all.”

“What is it then?” Woojin pries. “Explain yourself.”

“Why the interrogation?” Jihoon demands, shooting him a withering glower. “You’re making an attempt at turning the tables now, aren’t you?”

“Tables aside,” Woojin says, a small smile creeping at the corners of his mouth. “Why is your coffee so _unfailingly_ clingy?”

Jihoon gapes at him in confusion, unsure of why he’s gone on off-tangent. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Woojin stares at him for a long moment, as if to conduct an internal debate before making his next move. And then, he reaches over across the table for Jihoon’s lips, thumb swiping lightly at his mouth.

The heat from Woojin’s startling touch scorches his skin where they establish contact, and Jihoon finds himself holding his breath for no apparent reason.

“Sorry about that,” Woojin cops out. “I know you’d detest skinship on top of all the stunts I’ve pulled thus far, but I couldn’t help myself. The foamy moustache is cute, but it’s twice as silly-looking.”

Jihoon cements his gaze upon the floor, ashamed by his own pure lack of self-awareness. “Guess ordering the _least_ foamy drink on the menu won’t help me any.”

“Scour through the milk tea selection, next time,” Woojin suggests. “ _Entirely_ foam-free.”

“It’s the caffeine I’m into,” Jihoon clarifies. “It’s my energizer.”

“You won’t need it anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m right here,” Woojin says, copping Jihoon’s signature wink. “Your _Woonergizer.”_

Jihoon grimaces at him, unamused. “That shit don’t work. Stop trying it.”

“I’d forgotten how much I liked your animated reactions,” Woojin chuckles spryly. “I do regret leaving because of that, sometimes. Japan was a bore without you.”

Jihoon lets slip a slight, subtle smile, unable to shake away the pride swelling within him.

One way or another, he finds solace in the fact that—confused though his feelings may have gotten, by virtue of having missed his best friend—the most important aspects to their relational dynamic have hardly even changed at all.

How effortlessly he makes Woojin laugh, for example. Without even trying, without even meaning to.

As if he makes Woojin happy, simply by … _existing,_ with no other requirement, other than being unabashedly, and unapologetically himself.

“Ah hah,” Woojin exclaims, a victorious smile plastered onto his features. “Finally.”

“Finally what?” Jihoon blinks.

“I’ve finally gotten you to crack a smile.”

He gazes softly at Jihoon, and the feeling is unlike any other. It’s as if a force mysterious has awoken within him, and he has neither the ability nor the intent of coming to grips with what exactly that is.

He lets it sit there, plain and simple. Within the caverns of his heart, a bud on the brink of blooming into a feeling he’s never once known.

He gazes fondly back, adrift at sea in Woojin’s eyes, drowning contentedly in the coffee-tinged colour of them.

“Impromptu staring contest?” Jinyoung interrupts from behind them. Jihoon stiffens, flustered by the thought of having gotten caught in the midst of… _what?_

_What in the world was that?_

He attempts a sidelong glance at Jinyoung, incapable of looking him eye to eye point-blank, for fear of seeing judgment written plainly onto his customarily frank expression.

“Here you go,” Jinyoung says, setting a plate of moist, sweet-smelling cake atop their table. “One Earl Grey Peach Cake for Park Woojin.”

“Looks fantastic,” Woojin exclaims, eyeing the dish voraciously. “Can’t go wrong with cake for breakfast.”

Jihoon’s stomach grumbles audibly, in response to the mouth-watering treat in front of him. He observes Woojin digging into the soft, chiffon cake slice, vanilla cream gathering around the prongs of his fork.

Woojin gobbles up his first forkful in record time, savouring the taste as if to lay it on thick.

“Tastes divine,” he says, licking his lips. “You want some?”

“If you’re _seriously_ offering me a bite,” Jihoon replies. “Don’t expect a refusal.”

“Right,” Woojin laughs. “You _are_ the dessert fiend.”

He cuts through another forkful judiciously, offering Jihoon his share this time around. “Say ahh, Jihoon-ah.”

Jihoon gawks at him, unwilling. His mindful eye scans the vicinity, unsure of what’s gotten into Woojin that he’s emboldened all of a sudden. “You can’t mean to _feed_ me that yourself.”

“I ain’t cruel enough _not_ to mean it. Food is no joking matter, as far as you’re concerned. Right?"

Jihoon twiddles his thumbs together in agitation. “Yeah, but… what are we, lovers?”

“If you’re not into cake, no need to beat around the bush.  Just say so.”

Woojin pulls back, withdrawing his outstretched hand. As if on cue, Jihoon leans in, making for Woojin’s cake-topped fork. The taste of peaches and cream explodes in his mouth, infused with the citrine tang of earl grey tea.

“How is it?”

Jihoon sighs in content. “I think I’ve ascended even higher into heaven.”

The trill of Woojin’s laughter fills the air, Jihoon chiming in moments later. “I mean it. This is a _masterpiece_. Deserves a hundred Michelin stars.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t work that way,” Woojin shrugs. He catches sight of Sungwoon eyeing their exchange from behind the counter, a couple strides away from their table. He offers a tongue-in-cheek salute in return, grinning from ear to ear. “My compliments to the chef, Sungwoon-hyung.”

“That’d be me,” Sungwoon beams. “You’re welcome.”

Woojin wedges his fork through the cake a third time, piecing out an even fatter helping this time around. He fits it messily into his mouth, licking at the crumbs.

“That tasted like you,” Woojin says.

“Excuse me?”

“That was an indirect kiss,” he expounds. “Sharing the same fork.”

Jihoon stares at him, wracking his brain for the appropriate comeback.

“That…” he ventures. “That isn’t funny.”

“ _Jokes_ are meant to be funny,” Woojin shrugs. “And I’m not really joking.”

Discomfiture and unease course haltingly through him, worn out by Woojin’s pointless shenanigans.

“You said you were, just a moment ago,” he argues. “And don’t go telling me I’ve heard you wrong. I’m not deaf.”

“You’re right on that account,” Woojin agrees. “I _did_ say it was a joke. My asking permission to date you.”

“And?

“I was joking,” Woojin smiles. “When I said it was a joke.”

Jihoon goggles at him wordlessly, mouth agape, floored by the convolution.

“My two brain cells have officially imploded,” Jihoon declares. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Well then, my _one_ brain cell is confused,” Woojin responds. “You want me to tell you I’m joking about _not_ joking?”

Jihoon’s fingers tremble beyond his control, motor skills failing him in tandem with the damage Woojin’s proclamation has dealt upon his frazzled heart.

“Yah, Park Woojin…” he whispers, trailing off indefinitely. His hands secure themselves around the coffee cup, heat displaced onto his skin, its warmth the only comfort he adheres to. “Do you…”

_Do you like me?_

_Am I a friend to you?_

_Or, perhaps… am I a man?_

“Am I…” he begins, gulping surreptitiously, frenetic energy dancing through him. His mind knows the answer he seeks: a firm denial, a concrete _no._

Things are bound to be much simpler that way.

And yet his stubborn, troublemaker heart shuns cooperation. It stirs up confusion within him, until the lines of distinction blur in Jihoon’s thoughts, no longer able to distinguish where logic ends and desire begins.

“Am I… uhh…”

He fidgets in discomfort, staring fixedly at his beverage.

“Whatever it is you're thinking,” Woojin offers. “The answer is _yes.”_

Jihoon blinks, caught off-guard. “What exactly do you think I’d have asked you?”

“Was it… ‘am I an idiot’?” Woojin asks, stone-faced.

Jihoon sighs in defeat, pressing a finger to his temple. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

“You are, I can assure you that. It’s one of the many things I like so very much about you.”

“Is that so? Then riddle me this: if you like me, then why _leave?_ Why keep a distance?”

“I have my reasons. I’ll tell you once I’ve sorted myself out.”

“Can’t you just… tell? The curiosity is _killing_ me, and mind you, it’s a slow-burn death. Not the biggest fan.”

“No,” Woojin says, unfazed. “Just… forgive me, for pulling pranks left and right. I don’t mean to upset you, I just happen to like knowing you aren’t immune to my wiles.”

“Fine, then,” Jihoon concedes. “Just… no matter the trouble you’re facing, promise me you won’t escape to Japan or the Himalayas or some shit. Otherwise, I’m necking you.”

“I can promise you that,” Woojin smiles, reaching out to pat Jihoon’s head affectionately. “Besides, my ass was lonely in Japan. It _sucked._ ”

“You were _lonely_?”

“Very much so. I’m not quite myself without my best friend.”

“The girls at school didn’t bother you?”

“Of course they did. I’m not any less popular in Japan than I am in Korea, you know. The ladies love me. To hell with the language barrier.”

Jihoon’s eyes roll far enough back into his skull for him to swear he’s seen himself think. “But you didn’t manage to snag yourself a girlfriend?”

“Not interested. I already have someone I like. Remember?”

“Right,” Jihoon mutters, pain lancing through his chest, as if he’s a living dartboard and someone’s pegged their dart smack through the bulls-eye. “You aren’t planning on confessing to them, are you?”

By nature, Jihoon cares very little for privy affairs. At the back of his mind, however, ensconced by his subconscious intent… he wishes to identify the object of Woojin’s affection.

“I’ll confess,” Woojin declares. “It’s high time I man up and take charge of such things. Admit that I’m in love with this person, whether or not they love me back the way I do. I’m tired of running from the consequences of the decisions I’ve made. In the end, I can’t win this way either.”

A paltry thought makes its way past, hummingbird-quick, evanescing into nothing moments later.

 _That person…_ _can’t have been me all this time. Right?_

“I’ll support you, then,” Jihoon claims. “And I do apologize for having misdirected you. I just… couldn’t bear to see you hurt, I guess. On the off-chance that you might’ve had to grapple with rejection.”

 _Liar_ , his conscience accuses.

_Rather than that… you couldn’t bear the thought of losing him._

_Why not admit to your own selfish intent?_

“No worries,” Woojin says. “I don’t blame you at all. If anything, you have my thanks for steering me clear of impulse. I think… I’ll try and get a read on this person first before I tell them.”

Jihoon nods, finding sense in Woojin’s plan of action.

His own passivity notwithstanding, it hurts for Jihoon to think of Woojin in a relationship closer to his heart than what they already share between them.

“Is it working, thus far?” he prods.

“Not really,” Woojin shrugs, sipping languidly at his coffee. “The odds of them liking me back remain at 50-50.”

“Do something then,” Jihoon suggests. “To curry their favor.”

“Maybe I will.”

A moment later, Woojin catches sight of Sungwoon, who motions discreetly at him with a come-hither gesture. Woojin stuffs the remaining bits of cake into his mouth, chomping it down in one fell swoop. Jihoon clucks a tongue at him, sure he’s quite literally taken on more than he can chew.

Then again, Woojin’s esophagus is a feat of nature, and Jihoon’s barely seen him choke on anything, save for Kuanlin’s public—and remarkably ballsy—declaration of love to Jinyoung about a year ago.

Woojin takes his leave, Jihoon’s watchful eye trailing him into the kitchen. He sips at his Flat White tentatively, stirring the contents about here and there to mix in the cream risen over time to the surface.

Minutes pass, with no signs of return.

Curiosity barrels through him, working through a mental run-through of what Sungwoon may have possibly required Woojin’s presence for.

He rises from his seat, trudging hesitantly towards the counter. Kuanlin is busy working the French press, and Jinyoung is making his rounds at the tables, both taking orders and humouring the ladies who frequent 2 Park Avenue for him in particular.

Which means… Woojin and Sungwoon are alone in the kitchen.

_What are they in there for?_

“Kuanlin-ah,” Jihoon calls out. “Do you by any chance know what Sungwoon-hyung’s up to in there?”

“The pastry chef?” Kuanlin clarifies, looking rather perplexed. “Hmm… I don’t believe so, no.”

Kuanlin spares the kitchen a perfunctory glance before re-attending to his bar-keeping duties. “You’re allowed to check in on them, if you’d like.”

“Really?”

“For sure. Friends are welcome, anytime.”

Jihoon nods, making his way past the barricade to approach the kitchen door in stealth.

 _They must’ve attended to a private matter,_ he thinks. _Otherwise… Sungwoon-hyung wouldn’t have to summon him into the kitchen. He could very well have said what he had to out in the open._

“But what in the world’s taking them so long?”

He presses an ear against the door, intently listening in to snippets of their conversation.

_“I don’t think it fits, Woojin-ah…”_

_“You sure, hyung? I can’t just… try and cram it in there?”_

Jihoon’s brows furrow, begrudging the fact that whatever it is he thinks he’s heard, it’s devoid almost entirely of context.

_“Does that hurt?”_

_“Ah… just a little… Ahh…”_

“What the fuck?” Jihoon mutters under his breath. “Those two… they can’t be…”

_“Sorry, I should’ve been more gentle.”_

_“Hmm… it was kind of rough at first. But that’s my fault. It’s my first time…”_

_“Oh? Are you alright?”_

_“Ahh… yeah, right there…”_

_“You mean, here?”_

_“Yeah, that feels good…”_

_“Tell me when to stop.”_

_“Not yet_ _—_ _”_

Before he’s able to thwart the rabid entity possessing him, Jihoon bursts into the room, cheeks aflame, alarm and rage at odds within him.

“Hey!” he exclaims. “You can’t do that in here while—”

He trails off, only then taking stock of Sungwoon’s bemused simper, and conversely, Woojin’s baffled expression. Woojin’s fingers hover above Sungwoon’s wrist, and to both Jihoon’s relief and his chagrin, they’re standing across from him fully-clothed.

Certainly _not_ the risque scenario his wayward imagination rendered just then, in ultra-HD.

“Uhm…” Woojin ventures. “You alright?”

Jihoon stares at either of them in turns, praying in vain for the ground to fissure and split wide open, enough for him to plummet feet-first into the precipice.

“What… what exactly is going on in here?”

“Oh,” Sungwoon exclaims, looking rather sheepish. “My apologies for disrupting the date, but I had to ask Woojin for aid in stacking the flour sacks into the shelves. I’ve been working myself weary at the kitchen, and my arms were _begging_ for exemption from hauling them around. So I thought to ask for Woojin’s assistance, given his muscular build. This _hoobae_ does owe me a favour or two. I really am sorry, though. I’d ask Daehwi, but the poor thing’s on sick leave.”

“Right,” Jihoon says, recalling the earlier exchange he’d eavesdropped into. “And… the sacks don’t fit into these shelves?” He scans the kitchen, noting a rogue sack of what may have been said flour leaning against the nook behind the pantry.

“He purchased one too many,” Woojin explains. “And _then_ strained his wrist. It’s his first time, apparently. Baking for hours on end, and manually beating cake mixtures around with a whisk does take its toll eventually. And so I offered a brief massage. I know of a few pain relief techniques here and there.”

“Right,” Jihoon says, only then comprehending how paranoid he’d been, to think they were getting frisky behind closed doors.

“Sheesh,” Jihoon exclaims. “I’m a dumbass.”

“I won’t keep you guys in here too long,” Sungwoon says. “Both of you are customers after all.”

He pats Jihoon’s shoulder, before breaching momentarily through his space.

“And whatever it is you think Woojin and I have been doing,” he whispers into Jihoon’s ear. “Do it with him yourself. I’m sure he’d appreciate the thought _way_ more.”

He observes the cast of Jihoon’s cheeks morph from pallid to salmon pink, before stalking victoriously out of the room looking utterly pleased with himself.

“What was that all about?” Woojin asks.

“Nothing,” Jihoon says, fending off a host of impure thoughts. “Come on. Let’s get outta here.”

***

“I’d forgotten how boring summer breaks were,” Woojin sighs. “Even more now that we’re getting the boot, and our dorm rooms will only be readied for occupancy again once the next school year rolls around the corner.”

Both of them have retreated back into their bedroom, sprawled abreast of each other across Jihoon’s bed.

“You’re always welcome to visit,” Jihoon says. “Mom does wonder how you’ve been faring these days.”

“Still,” Woojin whispers. “I’ll miss waking up to you drooling every morning.”

Jihoon blushes cherry red, punching at Woojin’s side with his elbow. “Shut up. I’m glad to be rid of you.”

“Don’t say that. It hurts even though I’m sure you don’t mean it.”

“Try me.”

Woojin snickers at him, then pokes at his side in petty revenge. Jihoon deflects his movements to no avail, failing to keep Woojin away from his tickle spots.

“Hey!” He demands. “Go away, you idiot!”

“Say you don’t mean it first,” Woojin teases.

“Over my gorgeous dead body.”

“Then no way am I giving in, either.”

Woojin comes at him playfully, aiming for his ribs. Borne of his fight-or-flight response, Jihoon grasps firmly at both of his wrists, defensive adrenaline pumping through him. He sits up and rolls about until he’s straddling Woojin, legs on either side of his waist, stably pinning down both wrists to the mattress.

It takes him a grand total of five seconds to notice the embarrassing position he’s put them in.

He gasps audibly, releasing Woojin from his vice grip. He falls backwards, attempting to sever himself from their point of contact.

But Park Woojin is much faster. He sits up and wraps an arm around Jihoon’s waist, pulling him into a surprising embrace.

Jihoon’s heart hammers wildly in his chest, the scent of Woojin’s intoxicating perfume wafting about him. Woojin’s fingers are gentle, pressing against the small of his back, and his breaths are short, as if he’s run a marathon and finally made it to the finish line. He buries his head in Jihoon’s chest, listening in to the pounding rhythm of his bursting heart.

“Just for a while,” he whispers. “Let’s stay like this just for a while.”

Jihoon wants to say something. _Anything_. But he himself is at a loss for words. Instead, he offers Woojin a slight nod, keeping perfectly still, wrapped in his best friend’s warmth.

 _When will this moment end?_ A small voice within him asks.

 _I hope it never does,_ another says in response.

_I hope it never, ever does._

Jihoon’s hands make their way around Woojin’s shoulder of their own volition, and he leans into the crook of Woojin’s neck, into his embrace, into his arms.

Somehow, he feels right at home.

As if by a miracle, he’s found the place he fits perfectly into.

A haven made just for him, and he’s finally made his way back to where he truly belongs.

_This is why I’ve missed you Park Woojin._

_Because you belong with me, and I with you._

_One Park is no longer himself without the other._

_And that goes both ways. Doesn’t it?_

“I tried,” Woojin confesses through the heavy silence. “Holding myself back. It came to a point that I thought it wise to just… pack up and leave for Japan, if it meant I’d manage to stave off the feelings I’d harboured in secret for you. I had to distract myself, no matter the cost. But that didn’t work. I was _consumed_ by thoughts of you, everywhere I went. I missed you sorely, but I had to ignore your calls. Because the reality was that the very moment I hear your voice... I’d lose sight of what I came to Japan for, and book the earliest flight back to Korea. Because I’m _that_ coward. And it sucked. And now I realize I don’t _want_ to be that way. Not now. Not ever.”

Jihoon purses his lips, a shabby attempt at keeping the dam blockading his tears from giving out entirely.

“You’re not joking,” is the only thing he has the courage enough to say. “Are you?”

“I wish,” Woojin admits. “That simplifies things. I just… couldn’t quite confront the thought that if by chance, you find out I’m gay and in love with you on top of everything, you’d run the hell away and never make your return. Because we’ve been friends for a decade now. We’re a package deal, and yet there are certain lines we can’t cross if things are to stay the same between us. But this… this changes _everything_.”

In perfect silence, Jihoon listens. And then, he understands.

The words spoken, the words left unsaid, and every single line in between.

“I’m not leaving,” he says finally. “I was _terrified_ of losing you, too.”

Woojin pulls away, enough for him to look into Jihoon’s eyes, reading them wistfully, intently, in all of their intricacies.

“Then, for real this time,” he says. “Will you go out with me?”

Jihoon’s heart stills, as if he’s flatlined, as if he’s lost all sense of self.

“I… I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m not sure if I… like you back that way. Not just yet. I haven’t had the time to think things through.”

“Should I help you find the answer, then?” Woojin offers.

Jihoon meets his ardent gaze, the passionate fire in his eyes pushing him over the edge, into a chasm unknown.

He leaps voluntarily into the yawning void.

“Yes,” Jihoon nods. “Yes, please.”

Woojin smiles, leaning in, pressing their foreheads gently together.

“I love you, Park Jihoon,” he says. “I mean it. I really fucking do.”

And then, he closes the distance between them, touching soft lips to Jihoon’s own, claiming his willing mouth with the strangest, yet sweetest of kisses.

He tastes _exactly_ like Jihoon’s usual cup of coffee, like marshmallows and heavy cream, a sugar high, a rush of energy, like Park Woojin himself.

It is familiarity and the unknown, the bitter truth, and a sweet, sweet lie.

 _And for once_ , Park Jihoon thinks. _Coffee does taste rather nice, after all._

 

_~CHAPTER 3 END~_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I'm sorry if this has taken me quite a bit of time to write... It's a lengthy chapter, and by virtue of my ROTTEN luck, I managed to delete the first draft in it's entirety. Why am I so smart ;-; 
> 
> Either way, hope you like it! This is by far my favorite chapter <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Lilica here~ I've finally made it onto the 2Park tag! Before anything else, a small disclaimer: I am not, in fact, a 2Park shipper (or a Pandeep one for that matter) and many of my friends will know me as the local neighborhood Panwink supremacist. However, I'm not the type to take shipping matters too seriously, and because I have a whole bunch of 2Park shipper friends, I decided to take a leap out of my comfort zone and challenge myself as an author by stepping into 2Park territory. I ADORE both 2Park and Pandeep as bromances, but I'll admit I know very little about their overall dynamics, so do forgive me if I'm way off on this one xD I tried my very best, though! And I had lots of fun writing for a brand new ship (or two!) I hope you liked my first attempt :)
> 
> And if, for some reason, you have read my other works, you will know I'm quite notorious for the slow updates. But since my chapters are shorter here, updates won't take forever and a day, I promise. Das all folks, see you in Chapter 2!
> 
> If ya wanna be my friend (because I wanna be yours), hit me up on Twitter, @lilicadearest~


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